


A Little Break

by throttlegainwell



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throttlegainwell/pseuds/throttlegainwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve didn't get the itch under his skin too often, but when it happened, try as he might to quell it by other means, there was really only one way to dampen it and quiet the noise. Bucky always seemed to be able to tell, even before it became obvious, before his nerves were surely glowing wires, hot and bright and visible. By the time Buck dropped his hand onto Steve's shoulder and Steve shrugged it off, prickly and lost in thought, Bucky was done. Without a word he closed the curtains, flipped on the radio and turned it up loud, pulled off his jacket and button down, and reached into the bottom of Steve's dresser, behind the false panel at the very back. The scrape of the drawer, badly in need of some wax, plucked his attention from the ether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Break

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't say that Steve and Bucky are being terribly responsible or communicating very well here, so bear in mind that this is fiction.

Steve didn't get the itch under his skin too often, but when it happened, try as he might to quell it by other means, there was really only one way to dampen it and quiet the noise. Bucky always seemed to be able to tell, even before it became obvious, before his nerves were surely glowing wires, hot and bright and visible. By the time Buck dropped his hand onto Steve's shoulder and Steve shrugged it off, prickly and lost in thought, Bucky was done. Without a word he closed the curtains, flipped on the radio and turned it up loud, pulled off his jacket and button down, and reached into the bottom of Steve's dresser, behind the false panel at the very back. The scrape of the drawer, badly in need of some wax, plucked his attention from the ether.

Bucky stayed crouched on the floor with his head down and his shoulder twisting for a full minute while he felt around for whatever he was looking for. Steve didn't think it was necessary; Bucky was being a showman, trying to build suspense. Still, his undershirt had ridden up over the small of his back, and Steve kept his eyes there while he waited, trying not to think. He didn't even wonder what it would be tonight. Bucky usually knew what he needed.

Bucky grinned over his shoulder at Steve before he stood up, and when he turned around he tossed a length of rope at Steve's feet.

Steve looked at it. Then he looked up at Bucky.

"You know," Bucky said.

Steve knew.

He rolled his eyes, also knowing that Bucky wouldn't let that slide but not really caring, and snatched up the rope.

"Strip first." Bucky sat on the end of Steve's bed, leaning back and bracing himself with his palms. "Don't make a show of it. Just get it all off. Now."

Steve bristled, like he always did, but the errant waves of energy were already starting to be corralled into place. He kept moving until he was naked down to his toes. When he was finished he lifted his chin before turning away from Bucky and holding out his wrist, dangling the rope from his fingers.

Bucky didn't move right away. He liked to make Steve wait sometimes, thought he needed it, and maybe it was true, because if the radio was any indication, in a few minutes he'd be fire and fury, lighting Steve up and burning away the distractions.

His fingers ghosted up the back of Steve's hand for just a few seconds before he quickly and efficiently secured them, wrists crossed. He checked the knot, then gave them a squeeze and tapped Steve's ass to get him to move. 

He hooked a finger under the knot one more time. Quietly, he asked, "That alright?"

"S'fine."

Bucky made a low noise in his throat, all contemplation and annoyance. Then he grabbed Steve by the shoulder and threw him down onto his bed. Steve huffed when he landed, nostrils flaring and an ugly blush creeping up his chest the way it always did when he was handled this way. His cheek was pressed flat against the heavy bedspread; he stared at the loose fibers poking out from it, so close to his nose he was almost going cross-eyed looking at them. He flexed his hands against the rope, closing his eyes hard when they didn't budge, letting the fibers, worn softer with use but still coarse, dig in and grab hold.

"You tell me yes," Bucky said, voice even as though this were a normal conversation, "or you tell me no. You don't improvise. How're your hands?"

"Thought you said yes or no."

Bucky reached between his legs to pinch quickly at the tender skin of his thighs. He hissed slightly, leg jerking, but he stayed in position. 

"Be a smartass on your own time."

Except this _was_ Steve's time, because whatever Bucky got out of these occasions, they were very clearly designed around Steve. But they didn't talk about that, never talked about it. And that was fine with Steve. He wasn't just asking about his damn hands, anyway.

"Yes," he breathed out. "That's alright."

Bucky's thumb rubbed against the spot he'd pinched. "Good." He placed a steadying palm on Steve's back, just below where his hands rested tense and shifting, in the space between his hipbones. He pressed slightly, the only warning he'd give, and then he struck, hard and fast. Steve couldn't help the air that rushed out of his chest at the first smack, more than a slap but still not enough to do more than hurt like hell. Between the second and third blow he sank his teeth into his dry bottom lip, pressed his face further into the bed, bowing his shoulders as much as he could. It was stupid to think that Bucky's open hand felt like a fist -- he knew very well what a fist felt like, crashing into many places -- but it _hurt_ , rocking his body every few seconds with a crack that warred with the bouncy music pouring from the radio specifically to drown it out. Soon his ass, upper thighs, even the side of his hip and between his legs thanks to a few untidy hits were all hot with a stinging pain that lanced upward, aching deeply enough in a few spots that he knew he'd be walking gingerly later. Bucky held his palm just over the swollen, sensitized skin, a fraction of an inch away but not quite touching.

"Wish you could see it," he finally said. "Black and blue for all the right reasons."

Steve already got bruised for the right reasons. He kept that thought to himself for once; if he got something out of this, Bucky should get some satisfaction, too. He reached so deeply inside of Steve on nights like this that some of himself was bound to come tumbling out, tangling together, and whether he meant it or not didn't really matter.

Bucky breathed slowly, in and out, leaning down to rest his forehead between the jut of Steve's shoulder blades where sweat had already gathered. Bucky's face was damp, too.

He got up from the bed with a grunt, grabbed Steve's aching hip, and heaved him up, too, where he stood on wobbling legs before he forced them straight and locked his knees. Bucky cupped the back of his neck, thumb brushing through the wet strands at his nape, and studied his face.

If he asked if Steve was okay, sore muscles be damned, Steve would kick him in the shin. 

And maybe it showed on his face, because Bucky's eyes darkened and he grabbed the narrow wooden chair from Steve's drafting table and dragged it closer, throwing Steve down across it hard enough that the impact of his ribs against it shocked him for a moment. Before he could awkwardly adjust himself, trying to put less pressure on his chest, Bucky yanked his legs apart to stand between them, giving him even less leverage. Steve took a careful, experimental breath, and it wasn't pleasant, with the chair digging into him, but it would work. Bucky waited a moment, probably watching him, and then shoved his legs farther apart until he was supporting himself on his toes. One jerk of his hips hiked his ass even higher and pressed his chest lower. His shoulders tensed. Bucky's fingers dug into his hips for a second, gave him a little shake as if to tell him to stay right there, then let go. He leaned over to the dresser where he'd left something else before, not moving from his place between Steve's legs, keeping them spread wide apart. Steve couldn't turn around like this, but it sounded like a jar. He let out a slow rumble of air, chair vibrating under him with the force of it.

Barely a few seconds after Bucky'd opened the jar, he plunged two greased fingers into Steve without warning.

Steve gritted his teeth and slammed his eyes shut. The sound that passed from his lips was ugly and harsh and, in a sick way, a hilarious counterpoint to the music. Bucky wasted no time before he pumped his fingers in and out, twisting them around, crooking them upward. From this position, though, he wasn't hitting anything important, and a hard upward curl was even slightly painful, just a fleeting, ephemeral jolt.

He was panting hard when Bucky started to pull upward, fingers firmly curved and thumb on the base of his spine, and Steve flushed angrily at the implication. Like a hook, tethering him to Bucky, putting him at his beck and call and moving where Bucky wanted him, the moment he wanted. But how much higher could he go? He made it to the tips of his toes before Bucky eased him back down, slid his fingers out, and spread him open. And Steve could tell that he was staring, studying, looking at the deepening pink of his asshole against the dark, dark red of his bruising ass, maybe even a little blue by now. He wouldn't squirm. He wouldn't.

He didn't. But he wanted to.

Bucky chuckled, not really a laugh by his normal standards (and Bucky had a hell of a laugh, and this was nothing like it), and shoved his fingers straight back in, the two from before and one more.

Steve wiggled his heels, pressing the balls of his feet into the floor for purchase.

He waited a beat, probably for Steve to adjust, and then he slapped his ass again.

"Oh." It tumbled out of him, shocked and breathless. 

"Yeah."

Bucky slapped him again, nothing like the harsh smacks from earlier, not even all that hard, but on bruised tender skin it was agony. He clenched reflexively around Bucky's fingers with every tap, and with every jab of those fingers he keened. Every few slaps Bucky made a sweep downward, pressing hard on that spot, the one that made him sag and melt and see colors explode behind his eyes while noise rushed in his ears.

After one last tap, this time to his sac swinging heavy and vulnerable, he pulled his fingers free one last time and scooped more lube from the jar, rubbing it all around Steve's hole. Honestly, it seemed to fascinate him, rubbing it around and greasing him up nice and shiny, but Steve didn't need all of that. It was cool against his skin, and that was nice, but Bucky had a firm grip on his ass, and that crackled upward along his nerves. Damn, Bucky'd done a number on him.

His thumb casually pulled Steve open further, and one quick shove was all it took to jam himself inside, almost all at once, and then pushing for that last bit. And then it was a blur, all motion, Bucky's body slamming into his, knocking him into the chair, pelvis shoving against his aching ass, one hand clutching his hip and the other the back of his neck. Steve's skin was hot all over, his breath fast. He was losing a fight with gravity, sliding further down the chair, muscles protesting. Every time his ass slipped out of position Bucky pulled it back up, right where he wanted it, until he bent Steve over the chair even further, this time pressing his belly across it. He chest ached and protested as blood rushed back, hands pulled further down his spine, and a new patch of skin was rubbed raw.

His dick pressed against the edge of the chair now, rubbing with every thrust. It hurt, chafing against the wood, but he pressure was so good that Steve ignored it. (It would hurt like hell later, but since when had later ever mattered?)

The pace picked up even faster, harder, Bucky leaning down to blanket Steve's body with his own. Finally he grabbed Steve's chin in his cupped palm and tilted his face back to kiss him, panting wetly into his mouth more than a true kiss. Steve didn't even try to hide the tears at the corners of his eyes, too overwhelmed, overstimulated, awash in sensations too intense to even pin down.

He pulled out suddenly, Steve grimacing at the feeling. Steve felt a few drops of come hit the back of his leg, but Bucky'd clearly caught the rest, and Steve smiled despite himself. After all this, Bucky still thought it was just too mean to come on him, too disrespectful, wouldn't do it. Funny how his mind worked.

Bucky panted hard for a moment before he undid Steve's wrists and led him back to the bed, and now he was all soft hands, gentle touches, smoothing lines up and down the front of Steve's thighs while he dipped his head down to catch Steve's swollen dick between his lips. It wasn't long before Steve came, and in a perplexing twist, Bucky never minded just spitting it out into the trash, not finding it rude to shoot into his mouth in the first place. Steve smiled, feeling affection coil up in his chest as he came down slowly, breathing deeply, smelling sweat and sex and the scents of other people's cooking drifting in from under the door, reminding them that they weren't alone after all.

"Turn off the radio," Steve complained. "Neighbors need a break."

Bucky obligingly dragged himself over to switch off the radio, seemingly using up all of his energy to do so and then throwing himself down next to Steve. "We good?"

Steve tapped Bucky's cheek. "I'm gonna spank you so hard when it's my turn you're gonna do all your paperwork standing up for a week."

Bucky grinned. "Can't wait."


End file.
